


it looks ugly, but it's clean (please don't fuss over me)

by orphan_account



Series: i'm weak, my love (i'm too wanting) [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dysphoria, F/M, Gen, Haircuts, Insecure Geralt, Protective Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Trans woman Geralt, and she has issues about it, best friend regis, concussed geralt, geralts hair gets cut, trans man Ciri and Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Looking in the mirror felt as if getting slapped, and Geralt felt like there were ants swarming under her skin. Her hair was gone, cropped right under her ears. She swallowed once, brought a hand up to cover the bulge in her throat and tried to speak before stopping. She felt Jaskier press a lute-roughened hand to her shoulder and tried again. "I look ridiculous." She muttered, handing him the mirror back.(Hair might just be hair to some people, but to others it can be everything.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: i'm weak, my love (i'm too wanting) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632907
Comments: 7
Kudos: 157





	it looks ugly, but it's clean (please don't fuss over me)

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt has to cut her hair in an emergency and it takes her a shocking amount of time to realize she feels so bad about it due to dysphoria

The woods were calm and easygoing, a far cry from what the villagers claimed when they had cornered her and her bard at the tavern of the local inn. They had come to her with stories of maidens going missing and the tiny bones of children being left to rot on the edges of town, and of corpses being found pale and bloodless. That had almost immediately marked higher vampires from her mind; according to her source young blood was something few prideful vampires would willingly enjoy. 

The culprit was likely a garkain or an ekimmarra, nothing more severe than that from the tracks she could smell in the air. The thick and sharp stench of coppery blood coating the roof of her mouth, along with wet fur and magic. Only one, as far as she could count. The barely visible footprints and scorching claw marks across the surrounding trees.

Geralt was becoming steadily more grateful that she had made Jaskier camp with Ciri at a clearing some miles away; still skittish from the run in with drowners that had halted with Jaskier taking several swimming lessons. She doubted they'd want to donate any blood to the bruxa's cause today, and snorted when her mind conjured up the mock offense Jaskier would likely preach. 

The trail continued to thicken out as the trees clustered closer and closer together, and Geralt paused in her tracks to reach into her pocket. Black blood would be necessary for this, like it was necessary for any vampire attack. Just because it was weaker than the typical fare didn't mean she needed to get lazy; an idle witcher was a dead witcher. 

The small vial she found was quickly opened, and she braced herself before pouring it into her mouth. The deconcoction was vile in her mouth, burning painfully as she swallowed. Geralt hissed faintly once it hit her stomach and the muscle spasms started, before shaking herself out and continuing her hunt. 

The sun was scarcely peaking in the sky when she finally came across the nest, unsheathing her silver blade and casting quen before tossing a silver bomb inside and making for the trees. The shriek she heard when the bomb went off told Geralt that had been a very, very bad mistake. 

The scream had shaken the ground, sending leaves shuttering to the underbrush and nearly knocking Geralt over before she ducked down and centered her gravity. 

Bruxa.

Geralt could scarcely blink, let alone have time to prepare before she could feel a violent hand force her back, pinning her to an oak and putting crushing pressure on her shoulder. The weight of it was practically suffocating, and Geralt forced down the apprehension that rose in her chest with a violence untypical of her. The bruxa bared its deadly fangs, drooling across her breastplate and huffing rotten breath into her face. 

Trying to move was futile, with each scarce breath making the vampire twitch and snarl even louder. She forced her lip down, not allowing herself to snarl back when caught so off guard. Her sword had been sent flying with the original impact, and the knives she kept at her belt were useless when she couldn't move, and even  _ breathing _ the wrong way would undoubtedly send the beast into a rampage; what with how closely it glared at her. She was frankly impressed it had lasted this long without tearing her throat out. Life's lucky blessings, she supposed. 

That all changed when the bruxa paused to sniff the air, suddenly jerking painfully and pressing it's full weight into the joint of her shoulder and arm. Geralt jerked when she felt something  _ give  _ in the limb, and suddenly she had miraculous room to spare as she jerked back to duck underneath the beast. Something she'd never do otherwise, but she was completely defenseless and worst of all, trapped. 

The meager plan quickly dissipated when the bruxa seemed to snarl at nothing, whipping its head around to bare deadly fangs in the woods direction. If there was another bruxa in the territory then that made this much, much harder than she had prepared for. The black blood was working steadily- the sting too obvious in her muscles from her heart pounding with exertion. 

As the bruxa moved the slightest bit off of her to jerk angrily at the forest line, Geralt slid to the ground and drew her knife. The bruxa turned back with an angry snarl, this time grabbing her by the hair and dragging her to her feet by it. She gasped slightly in pain, feeling her scalp shriek when she was hefted into the air by the ponytail. She kicked futilely, the bruxa baring its teeth in an ugly smile as it shook her.

It shook her again, almost like a cat with a mouse, and Geralt almost dropped her knife with the motion. She gripped it tight in her right hand, uncaring of the popping of her tendons while she struggled to focus through the agony of her head and all encompassing rot of the bruxa. 

It took her barely a second before she was jerking her hand up, chopping away at the bruxa's handhold and stabbing at its fingers while it shrieked, knocking a tree down and causing Geralt's ears to ring. She could feel something warm trail down the sides of her face as she hit the ground with a harsh crunch, forcing herself to move through the breathlessness and shove the dagger into the bruxa's stomach.

She was sprayed with thick, putrid blood before the bruxa screeched again; this time in pain and rage. It jerked back before kicking out into Geralt's chest with another shriek, sending her harshly into the tree behind them.

Her head collided with a sickening crack, and as she felt her body crumpling everything turned gray, then black. 

*****

When she reached consciousness again,it was to turn onto her side and heave what meager food she had eaten onto the ground. As she gagged, she could feel hands patting at her back, making sure she didn't fall into the mess and holding her steady when her own world toppled around. Coughing did little to clear the sick from her throat, but she did what she could, and obediently laid back down when the hands urged her to. 

Geralt could recognize the scent, the feeling. whoever it was she knew they were safe, though it didn't strike her  _ who _ it was until her vision unblurred to reveal a familiar face and a close lipped smile. 

"Regis?" She rasped, confusion clouding her face. 

"Indeed, that's my name." He teased lightly, moving to help her sit up as she began to fidget, patting on of her hands along the side of his face as if to reassure she wasn't hallucinating from the head trauma.

"What're you doing here? You were home, last I heard." 

"I need to get out too, Geralt. You should consider yourself lucky I was around, that bruxa was very difficult to convince." He penned as he spoke, brushing strands of messily cut hair out of her face and looking over her head. "You should also consider yourself lucky you didn't hit your head any harder. I looked at it earlier while it was bleeding, but it will still bruise for several days." 

She sighed through her nose, struggling to ignore the sting of his fingers as he prodded at her face. "Must've hit a few branches or something, only really got the back of my head when I was thrown." 

Regis frowned, before sighing himself and brushing the concern off his face. "It seems you must have. Thankfully it's just bruising. A few nights rest at an inn or camp will have you right as rain, thanks to that metabolism of yours." 

He moved to brush through her hair while speaking, pausing when she flinched back. ( _ Why did she do that? _ ) She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but his frown stayed firm. "I take it you don't want me to try and cut it?" He asked softly, not speaking when she nodded quietly. It was too soon, and she was still too high strung. The potion still showed signs of itself on her skin, her eyes normal but her veins dark and stark against too pale skin. 

"Let's get this cleaned up before we set off. It'll fester if it's left too long." Regis finally said, already moving to dampen a washcloth with the water from her skein before moving to hand it to her. 

"I don't think I'll ever be clean." She admitted, staring at the newly sodden washcloth in her hand as if it had personally wronged her. Regis had the unfortunate inkling that she wasn't talking about mud anymore. The look in her eyes confirmed that, and he hesitated before speaking. She shot him a baleful smile, something bitter and accepting all the same. "Blood really has a way to stain, doesn't it?" 

She wanted to rip the memories of her life from her mind like ribbons, dripping red with ink and blood onto a new parchment. Wanted to stop leaking across the likes of herself and the embodiment of her mind. Wanted to stop fighting and being paid less than she agreed on— if even for just a week, a day, an hour. Geralt was tired of fighting, and meeting Regis, who she had missed so dearly, only made the absence of her brothers all the more a throb in her lungs. 

Regis didn't answer her back, moving closer to take the dampened fabric and gently work the dirt from her face instead. It was enough. It was always enough with Regis, in a way different and similar to Jaskier all the same. She closed her eyes against the scrape of cloth against thick blood, trusting he wouldn't let anything happen if she finally relaxed. 

*****

Traveling was much harder than she had anticipated, to Geralt's increasing ire and annoyance. Her muscles twinged painfully, and she could feel the scrapes on her shoulders and spine stinging in a way almost impossible to fully ignore. She rubbed at her eyes in irritation, forcing herself to focus on Regis's dark clad form in front of her as he walked efficiently. 

She had gotten  _ soft _ , much softer than she had originally predicted. Especially if just a walk was exhausting her like this was. Her heart was thinking readily in her chest and each swing of her arms to hold her bag secure sent a stab of pain in her out of commission shoulder. Geralt was certainly regretting the foolhardiness she had when she chose this mission to take. Shit like that got witchers killed and it seemed she was the current, prime example. Papa Vesemir was liable to flay her alive if he ever found out. 

Knowing Jaskier and Ciri, he would find out.

Regis must've sensed her hidden discomfort– something she tried not to let bother her. If she was truly that obvious then she would need to rest longer than expected, risking the loss of more coin than this failure of a contract already resulted in. Neither of them spoke, all too familiar with the communication of silence as Regis slowly led the way to the ever increasing roar of flooding water.

It was nothing outrageous, just a simple stream sputtering along a rocky bank and surrounded by trees old and young. A relatively new flood of water, but it was water and clear with cleanliness. 

"Come now, Geralt." Regis said as he moved to toe the water delicately with one foot. She didn't hide the snort she let out at the image he made; like some disgruntled cat debating on bathtime or yowling instead. 

"And what should you have me do, hm?" Geralt couldn't quite stop herself from asking, though her body was already going through the motions to unbuckle the harshly weighted armor from her shoulders and underbelly. 

"Let me see those wounds, obviously." He rolled his eyes playfully, "I know we've corrected that shoulder of yours, but don't think I didn't smell the blood on your back before it dried." 

She chuckled faintly, slipping the armor from her torso and setting it gently on a large, flat rock before focusing on the rest of her clothes. "Give me a moment then, I suppose. I'm caked in dirt and blood, look more like a necrophage than a wolf if you ask me." 

Regis snorted, shaking his head lightly as he turned back towards the stream; silently giving her privacy she hadn't even realized she wanted. ( _ Unsurprisingly, Regis seemed to know just about everything. Geralt sometimes wondered if he could read minds before banishing the thought. _ ) Her clothing was a simple matter: her typical linen shirt, the thick trousers she wore, and her chemise. To both her dismay and her lack of surprise she discovered the blood staining her breastband from where the bruxae had heaved atop her. She had already known the shirt would be a lost cause, but that only added salt to the wound. 

She wasn't going to speak on her other underclothes, for that matter. Whoever decreed blood and dirt be the hardest to remove stains, they were right and Geralt  _ hated them. _ At least her trousers were leather, they couldn't be ruined so easily. 

She bit back a vehement curse with a grind of her teeth, before stubbornly shifting into the water in a mixture of annoyance and faint hope the stain would lighten. The water was frigid, and she hissed in complaint while Regis watched with a raised brow. 

"You know ichor can get blood out, yes?" He asked faintly, looking more amused at the second with her building grievance.

"Of course I know that- did you know it only works on fresh stains?" She snapped right back, glaring faintly at him and holding out a hand demandingly until he gave in and tossed her a ragged cloth she could use to scrub the blood off with. 

"Lovely mood you've fallen prey to, Geralt." He noted, still as amused as ever with her antics. She tried not to let it act as infectious as it was. It worked anyway. 

She fought the instinct to splash water at him, knowing it would end in a tsunami of some sorts, before she answered. "You could suppose I'm tired after the hellhole of that fight. Which is ridiculous, considering I scarcely did anything but jump around like a fool." 

"I mean, any man would need rest after that. You nearly died, Geralt." 

"I'm not-" Geralt started, before stopping with a defeated noise. She had hoped it would've been rather obvious to the vampire at this point. Regis continued to watch her, concern now flaring in his eyes. 

"Not what, old friend?" His voice was soothing as he spoke, so familiar and  _ so _ close in her heart that she could scarcely remember why she had been upset. Regis would never hurt her–  _ had never _ hurt her. Even after the years and years that had blended away beneath their immortal lives. She took a breath and steeled herself for a battle she knew would never come. 

"I'm not a man." Regis tilted his head, though to her relief he didn't seem surprised. She couldn't tell if it was his poker face or genuine, though. "I'm- I've always been a woman. I just– I never understood. And ignored it." The pause between her breaths nearly suffocated her as she watched for Regis' reaction. 

"Until now?" He said slowly, still watching her with that same careful consideration. The question surprised her; Geralt hated the parts of her that were still terrified of what Regis might say. 

"Yes." She swallowed again. "Until about two years ago." The days had passed in a gauzy haze, each one an array of new sights and sounds; Yennefer occasionally hunting them down to press potions and concoctions into Geralt's hands. The same ones she herself had used when the realization had struck her. She swallowed again. "I think I've known my entire life, though."

Regis had started nodding, before moving to walk over to her from his position on the rocks. He didn't seem to care as he stepped into the cold water, robe dampening quickly by the rushing flow. Geralt could feel her chest tightening when he gripped her hands in his own, claw against claw and scar against scar. 

"My friend; are you happy?" 

This question caught her off guard as well, and she blinked at Regis as she took time to process the inquiry. Finally, she squeezed his weary hands in her own. "I think so. Happier than I have been in a long time."

He grinned at that, fangs so fond and sweet that she nearly forgot herself before he spoke. "Well, that's all I care about." The intensity of the joy that hit her made her giddy, and she smiled shakily at him. 

"You mean that?" 

"Of course I do." He squeezed her hands again when he spoke, looking fond. "Did you keep your name?" It took her a moment to realize what he meant. 

"Uh- yeah. It's still Geralt; Vesemir gave me it– it means something." She tried her best to articulate exactly what the name meant to her. Why she chose to keep it. She should've known better than to worry, even with something as simple as her name. 

He nodded once, looking far happier than she had expected. "I'm quite thankful you trusted to tell me, Geralt. You are perhaps one of my dearest friends even now, a blood sister." She smiled broader at that, in the moment uncaring of the blood still staining her brow and lips or the lightness of her head. 

*****

Night had quickly fell as they fought through nature's grip, the moon shining like a gauze down on them both as they came closer and closer to where she had insisted her small family settle down for the evening. The shadowed twilight seemed to have brought something strange out of her, as she couldn't quite shake the memory of long forgotten toys and hidden children; botchlings and Yennefer's wraithful motherhood. ( _ Her own wraithful motherhood. Something she had out of surprise and yet something she would never have of her own body. A cruel, cruel fate she was. This world didn't take kindly to wraithful mothers. _ )

"Sometimes I feel like those dolls." Geralt finally said, staring up at the sky and refusing to meet Regis' face. "You know, the ones we saw in that toy shop all the way in Toussaint?" 

"Indeed, the toy shop was quite a sight after all the chaos of that day. There was something nice in the peace of it." Geralt nodded her agreement, mind flitting back to the  _ smokebloodwine _ scents of Toussaint and the people who thrived there. The toys had reeked of human blood and inhuman work, claws used to whittle details instead of knives and spells cast to preserve the glaze. 

"I just- it feels like I'm being played with, sometimes. Like I'm some damn toy for destiny to toss around as it pleases." 

The vampire stopped his pace as she spoke, turning to look at her fully. She had placed her hands across her chest, as if measuring each windingly slow breath or elephant thump of her heart. "Am I thinking too hard on it?" She asked, voice reed thin. "I don't know why I can't stop, it just keeps popping up in my mind." Regis was silent, contemplative and peaceful.

"I think it's best if you got some rest, my friend." Before she could interrupt him, looking fierce underneath the knife-cut edges of her hair, he continued. "You need  _ rest _ , Geralt. Even just meditation, or lying in and staring at the sky. I can smell your camp, it's hardly a distance away and you need to let things lie for the night. You've been through several stressful situations at once, and you are undoubtedly starting to finally feel the effects. That's a likely reason you feel so existential and we both know it." 

She relaxed marginally as he spoke, his voice familiar and soothing as it washed over her. Her ears were still ringing from the blow she took earlier, something Swallow was slow to soothe, but Regis always managed to make her feel better. "Maybe you're right." She acquitted, quirking her lips. "I only ever get this melancholy when I'm drinking." 

"Exactly- you're not yourself. Sleep should help, I would hope. Do you have a camp set up around here? I know that bard of yours likes to hang around during hunts."

She hummed, standing straighter to properly scent the air as they continued to move. Regis was, as usual, right. She could smell the musk of burning wood and human scarcely a mile from where they were, doused in thick oily perfumes that clung to the roof of her mouth and the sharp probe of wood stain. Ciri and Jaskier. She pointed in the direction the wind was gusting, the trees thinning out into a natural path. 

"When was the last time you slept, if you don't mind me asking?" Geralt certainly did mind him asking, but knew it must've been obvious that she hadn't had a proper night in some time. She sighed instead, casting him a knowing look. "Right, too long then. You're to clean up and get right into that tent, doctor's orders." 

That made her snort, finally smiling somewhat at the sarcastic tone of his commands. "Oh? I thought you were just a barber, not some fancy  _ doctor _ now." 

"You must be behind the times then, my dear. I received my doctorate from the most prestigious school of Touissant." He teased right back. 

That preposterous thought actually made her laugh, almost tossing her head back. The idea of Regis– old as sin and somehow even more crotchety – going to sit in medical classes with fresh faced bards and princes made her wheeze. "My god- you'd lose it on the first day!" She managed to get out, laughing harder when Regis' poker face finally broke and he crumpled into laughter with her. 

It helped, Regis helped. The loss of what felt like the embodiment of her trust and her femininity stung almost unbearably, but laughing with him almost made it easy to ignore. It helped keep her steady even as they came into the camp, where Jaskier and Ciri had obviously been waiting for some time. The acrid scent of panic hit her violently, and she tried not to wrinkle her nose as Jaskier stood and rushed to hug her. 

Ciri was quick to follow, both of them wrapping careful hands around her waist and good arm without jostling her too heavily. The flood of questions and concerns nearly distracted her enough to miss Regis quietly retreating, and as she turned to glance at him he waved and smiled once more at her before disappearing back into the woods. One thought was left in her mind, something leftover from his magic, she presumed.  _ Got to take care of that bruxa. She's still mighty angry. _

She'd have to write a letter. 

*****

"Why do you care about me?" Geralt had asked, one faded night weeks before everything had fallen apart. The moon had bleached the color from her skin, her face barren and sharply cut; Jaskier was punched with the supernatural way she looked, remembering that she wasn't quite human. Had never truly been human- he saw the way plants and flora would curl towards her, even after the trials burnt away the druidic heritage her mother had blessed her with. 

"What do you mean?" He asked, voice subdued from the question.

She had hummed at that, shrugging as she was wont to do when words failed her. Jaskier thought he was beginning to understand. "Because," he began slowly. "Because you deserve it. I care about you on purpose, Geralt." She had looked away at that, and he found himself moving, turning her chin in his hand; tilting her head so she looked at him, all ekkimora-white hair and serpentine eyes. "I care about you on purpose." He repeated.

"But  _ why?"  _

"Because the people who didn't were fools, Geralt. They were fools and they hurt you, and I'll be damned if I ever act like they did. You deserve to be cared about because you are so, so good. Because I love you." 

She almost looked like she wanted to ask him why again, but something in his face gave her a pause. She blinked once-  _ long and slow _ \- and then moved to press a small kiss to his lips. It was slow and gentle, the type of kiss you'd write about in the depths of the night, and it made something small and fragile in Jaskier's heart come to life. 

It was that moment that he realized he'd follow Geralt to the edges of the Earth and back; beyond what his unnatural life would allow and through hell. It was at that moment that Jaskier realized he was unequivocally in love with the witcher. Oh- he had known it, yes. He'd been aware of his affections for a painfully long time, but he had never realized just how ingrained they were until he felt that tell-tale throb in his lungs. 

She took his hand in hers, rough and calloused as they were gentle. He could feel the metal of her eyes as she stared through him, flaying away every inch of himself to see him at his very core. Looking Geralt in the eye was like looking into the eye of a hurricane, startlingly calm and all the more deadly for it. Her eyes were enchanted. Pressing his palm against the scarred mass of her chest was easy. Moving to press a kiss to the swollen, stretched tissue and the remnants of her left breast was easier. 

"What happened, here?" He murmured, feeling the vampiric beat of her heart against his lips. He could also feel her chest twitch as she swallowed, taking a slow breath before she began to speak. 

"Was a long time ago. Werewolf caught me off kilter and ripped through my armor." The explanation was simple but Jaskier's reaction wasn't. He gave a small, wounded noise, his eyes soft and sad as he pressed another kiss to the scarred dip of her breast. 

"You didn't deserve that." His eyebrows were furrowed as he stared up at her, all liquid blue eyes and puppy features. 

She sighed, shrugging lightly. "It happened though, and I learned." 

"What a way to." He murmured, moving to press another kiss to the knotted mass. It was barely felt, numbed as the tissue was after years of faded movement. She didn't respond, merely curling closer to him and enveloping his body is strong, too cold muscle. She wasn't tense for once, comfortable outside with Jaskier and her both awake and Ciri so close. 

Her breath was a sharp contrast to her cold skin, dampened heat against his collar and filling the small space between them with mist from the chill. It was almost too easy to close his eyes and slip into sleep, but he forced himself to stay awake just a little longer. Just watching her face as she dozed lightly; lashes fanning the high arc of her cheekbones and smudged kohl still staining her waterline. Her mouth was slightly open, mouth and face smoothed out and ages younger in sleep. 

It was a rare sight to see her skin open and trusting, and something about the obvious trust she had in him made his heart stutter. No words or human chords could properly express it; that thick sensation in his chest and mind. Jaskier decided he rather liked keeping it for himself, the world could be damned. As long as she would stay the world could burn. 

*****

"Why don't we go rest for a bit, clean this up?" Jaskier meant well and Geralt knew it, but it only brought her attention back to what had faded from her mind. Her shoulder was still throbbing angrily from where it had been wrongly twisted, and her neck felt open to predators without the thick weight of silver hair pressing down on it 

Even walking into the tent made Geralt's face burn. She doubted she'd be able to force Ciri's terrified face out of her mind anytime soon. The boy had scarcely recognized her at first- that hurt worse than the impact of her skull, worse than the coagulated slashes or dislocated shoulder. She had looked at her child and only seen confusion. 

Logically she knew it was just the mixture of things. The cold air making him squint, the bruising blooming across the pale skin of her face, her  _ hair.  _ She had taken so long to grow it to that length, meager as it had been. Witcher metabolism was unnaturally slow– just an inch of hair took months. 

And now it was gone and she didn't know if she felt relieved she was alive, (which was ridiculous, of course she was released, her skin was just  _ wrong _ ) or more upset that her hair had been used as a damned hand hold for a bruxae to rip her throat out. 

Sitting down in the still quiet made for an awkward conversation with her partner, Geralt was quick to find after sitting on her knees in the center of the simple tent. She placed her hands palm down on the sullied leather of her trousers, wondering faintly if the blood sprayed from early had seeped into her underclothes as she waited for Jaskier to begin speaking. 

She really was trying to relax, trying to force the disgust and boiling  _ wrongbadincorrect _ out of her mind. That did little to mean she was succeeding, and Geralt gritted her teeth in frustration as time began to pass further with Jaskier merely shuffling through his bags.

*****

Her jaw was tense, teeth grinding so sharply Jaskier would swear they were shattering. He moved tentatively, reluctant to send her skulking back into herself after the chaos that had just taken place. He had thought to give her a moment to herself but must've been sorely mistaken, and he wondered what exactly had happened. Her hair–  _ Gods, her hair _ – had been haphazardly cut; as if, and Jaskier felt trepidation curl in his gut at this, someone had done it in a panic.  _ Or as if someone had ripped it out _ , his mind provided him with. 

"Geralt?" He asked softly, breaking the quiet hush that had drooled across the tent. Jaskier could  _ see _ when she stopped breathing, and only felt his concern grow further. "Geralt, my favorite witcher?" He tried again.

Thankfully it seemed to work, and while she didn't smile she answered him. "I'm the only witcher you know." She said shortly, not looking at him but finally loosening the tight bunching of her muscles. 

"You'd still be my favorite, even after I met your infamous brothers." He lightly chided, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin of her cheek and trailing then until he could finally smile into her mouth. "How is your head faring? The bruises are rather formidable, I must admit. They do little to take away from your beauty, though." 

She hummed, pressing into the kiss before pulling away to answer. "Could be worse. Hit a tree but nothing too hard. Don't even think it's bleeding." 

The look on Jaskier's face told her that did little to soothe him. "You hit a  _ tree _ ? Good gods, Geralt!" He exclaimed, already moving to search through their bags with a rapid fervor. "Why didn't you tell me? I need to put a salve on that- who knows where that tree had been?" 

She let him fuss, smearing sweet smelling salves across her upper back and forehead even as they quickly healed. If it let him rest easier than it was permissible; though she would likely need to gather more parsley after he was through with the ointments. Jaskier would help her, it was nice to trudge through the fields and pick the flowers and herbs she used. It was even nicer to watch the way her hair spun in the wind whilst they did.

It was unfortunate that such damage has undergone it, but even with half of the length gone she was still a breathless sight to him. It would grow back, and Jaskier hoped it wouldn't bother her too much to let it. He could tell the loss was bothering her; the same way his voice or chest would bother. 

"May I even your hair out?" He made sure to keep his voice as low and easy as he could, feeling relief bloom in his chest when she nodded. 

"You're much softer than you make yourself out to be, Geralt. You know that as well as I do." He murmured as soothingly as he could, as apologetically as he could, stroking hands through the uneven mess of her hair and looking close to where he would need to cut. 

*****

"May I even your hair out?" His voice was gentle when he asked, and she slowly nodded. 

"You're much softer than you make yourself out to be, Geralt. You know that as well as I do." Jaskier hummed, voice as gentle as the hands stroking through Geralt's choppy hair.

She snorted lightly, hiding the painfully fond smile that lifted her lips. "Well," she began, the words thick in her mouth, "It might be in my bones at this point." The regrets lingering in her chest would never cease after the hell Ciri had been put through, all aided along by her own cowardice and fear. Geralt thought that if she had one chance to make another wish, it would be to save Ciri before the fall of Cintra traumatized him as it had.

She twitched her nose, attempting to fight the twisting guilt away as Jaskier worked behind her. She could hear the serrated noise as the knife Jaskier held sheared away the edges of her hair— something she never realized just how attached she was to. It was foolish of her to want it to stay, she looked absolutely ridiculous with half a head of hair, especially with how choppy she had cut through it. It was even more foolish of her to be so  _ upset _ over it being cut. She was alive and relatively uninjured, and she couldn't wrap her mind around the sick feeling coiling in her gut with each feather of white hair that fell around her. 

What was wrong with her?

She tried not to shift as Jaskier hummed something; undoubtedly trying to be soothing as she tensed. It did little to help her, somehow making the panicked nausea swell further inside her. She wanted to swallow it down but it burst out of her in a strangled noise. The silence following seemed to dredge on until she spoke again, Jaskier still behind her. "Stop. Please?" 

"Of course, dear. Did I knick you?" Geralt could smell Jaskier's concern leaking into the air, thick and rancid on her tongue like rotting fruit. 

Swallowing saliva, she forced herself to answer. "No. Just- is it even now?" She determinedly stared at the fabric of the tent, trying not to look at the hair on the ground. Jaskier must've heard the thick tone of her damned voice, reading the room and subduing himself. 

"Yes, just about. Do you want to see?" 

Did she want to see? She didn't know. She didn't think she did. "No."

"No?" Jaskier seemed almost surprised at the refusal, "Why not?"

She shook her head, not deigning to answer. In honesty she didn't know, just that the familiar weight of her hair across her shoulders was gone and it left something poisonous crawling along her skin. "I'm being ridiculous." She eventually muttered, "Give me the mirror." 

"Are you sure?" Now he sounds doubtful, and it makes something angry in her. 

She snaps before she can reign herself back in. " _ Yes _ , I'm sure. Give me the damn mirror." Geralt pauses the second the words leave her mouth and sighs. Jaskier hands her the mirror wordlessly and she doesn't give herself more time than it takes to grab it to prepare herself. 

Looking in the mirror felt as if getting slapped, and Geralt felt like there were ants swarming under her skin. Her hair was  _ gone _ , cropped right under her ears. She swallowed once, brought a hand up to cover the bulge in her throat and tried to speak before stopping. She felt Jaskier press a lute-roughened hand to her shoulder and tried again. "I look ridiculous." She muttered, handing him the mirror back. 

"You really don't. It highlights your jaw wonderfully." She didn't respond to him. She didn't feel like it highlighted anything but what she hated, though if she said that she was sure Jaskier would have a fit. Instead, she shook her head softly and made to stand back up outside of the tent. "Geralt- are you going back out?" 

She nodded quietly, still silent as he moved to press a kiss to the sensitive skin of her softening jaw. 

"I love you, dearest." He softly said, "With or without your hair long." Geralt leaned into the touch for a moment, before moving to leave again. 

"Love you too." The words weren't hollow even as the rest of her fell away.

*****

She would catch herself sometimes. Catch herself appreciating how much easier the shortened hair was to take care of– even if it left her neck exposed and framed her face in all the ways it shouldn't. It was easier than it could've been, at least. It could've been cut before she started drinking whatever those potions Yennefer gave her were. She doubted she'd be able to deal with it if it had happened then, though. The concoctions softened her jaw and body and chest in all the ways she wanted; Geralt didn't doubt she'd be grateful for them even after the strain her and Yennefer's relationship held.

It didn't make her feel any worse but it certainly didn't make her feel better, either way. Her hair was still cropped boy-short and growing slowly; she cursed her metabolism for that, as well. It would take years to grow back, years she didn't want to wait for. Enough people stared at her already; half grown hair would only make it worse. 

That train of thought quickly delved into Jaskier. She had been catching him staring more often now, staring in a way she hadn't noticed before. His eyes would now linger at the curve of her neck or the exposed nape of it but instead of it flattering her it made her all too aware of the length and tender parts of her now uncovered. 

She knew she should talk to him about it, knew he would want to know but she couldn't quite force herself to. Never would Geralt admit how scared it made her when she thought of bringing it up. Witchers didn't feel  _ afraid _ , yet the thought of bothering Jaskier with something so ridiculous made her breath catch. What if he laughed at her? Or got tired of how..  _ much _ she was, of how she was just  _ too much _ all the time. She couldn't even rationalize what she might do if that happened. 

( _ She knew she was too much but she also knew Jaskier loved it. She knew he wouldn't leave but it didn't make the fear any less real. What was one more person leaving compared to the hundreds who already did? She was ruined goods at this point. _ )

What if he was staring because he was realizing things about her? Did she look bad? ( _ Did she look like a man? _ )

*****

Jaskier somehow knew without her telling him, just like he always knew. She could never truly understand just  _ how _ he seemed to figure out things the way he did; one piercing look and he had already unraveled all the pieces of her knotted together. 

"I'm thinking we need to spend a little time alone, don't you?" He asked, twining their fingers together as he rested his head on her shoulder. "We haven't had any time recently." He was right, they hadn't had much time to simply...  _ be, _ since the bruxa and finding Ciri. 

She nodded, placing her cheek atop his mess of fluffy hair. "Right." She simply said, agreeing more with her body than her words. 

"Well, Ciri is asleep right now." Geralt could hear the tone of Jaskier's voice shift, and she pulled back to raise a brow. "Oh- not that!" She couldn't quite stop herself from chuckling at the way he flapped his hand against her chest, looking shockingly flustered for a rather  _ active _ man. 

She draped herself back over him, relaxing into the warmth. "What do you want to do?" 

"I was thinking we could just.. talk, I suppose. Nothing specific or anything." When Geralt hummed in lieu of responding, he continued. "There is something I think we do need to talk over, though." She looked down at him. "Don't give me that look! It's just- your hair, Geralt. It's bothering you." 

She paused at that, not answering him and looking more like a deer than a witcher. "Geralt?" Jaskier tried, and she shifted away, crossing her arms protectively around her torso and looking away. "What is it?" 

"You already know what." Her voice has closed off.

"Not if you don't  _ tell _ me." He tried again, a little exasperated. 

"You should know, you keep staring." The words were waspish when she bit them out, and she continued to look in the other direction while Jaskier floundered. 

"Of course I'm staring- don't act like that, come here!" He started, before pulling her close to him. Geralt didn't fight the tug, though they both knew if she wanted to, Jaskier could've been flung meters away. "Love, you know I always stare at you."

"Not like this." Geralt's voice was stubbornly still emotionless, and though she was pressed against him she was as tense as a statue. "While I look like this." 

Jaskier might've been getting a clue at that point, understanding dawning. He just had to ask, though. "While you look like what exactly, dearheart." 

"Like a man." 

" _ What _ ? Geralt- Geralt,  _ no. _ " The bard sounded genuinely distraught when she said that, jerking away from her and cupping her face in his hands. "You don't look like a man. Ever, ever, ever." 

She merely looked flatly at him, too tired to argue but disbelieving all the same. 

Jaskier sighed, before asking her something that shocked her. "Geralt- have I ever looked like a woman?" 

"What- no? What does that have to do with this?" 

"Everything, and you know it. If I've never looked like a woman, even with all my prancing and singing, then  _ why _ would you look like a man with a new hairstyle?" She opened her mouth, all too aware of the how and why and ready to explain them when Jaskier held up a warning finger. "Plenty of women have their hair short. Hell, your favorite herbalist has the shortest hair I've seen on a woman." 

"But they're-"

"But they're  _ nothing _ , dearheart. I stare because you're a gorgeous woman, not because you look like a man. You have never looked like a man to me." 

"Jaskier-"

"Unless you're going to tell me that I'm right and you are lovely, let me finish." She fell silent, staring at him from under her lashes. 

"Just you wait." Jaskier said, "We'll come across a nice, accepting inn soon and I'll show you exactly what I mean. You are as beautiful as any woman, even more beautiful if you ask me. I'll just have to prove it." He would rather die than not prove it. She deserved to know her beauty. It was the least the damned world could allow her after the hellish days she's seen. 

*****

As if Jaskier had predicted the future, they miraculously came across an easy going town a measly day later. The bard was quick to insist for dinner and a few nights in the local inn, shoving food and drink at both Ciri and Geralt and then dedicating several hours to Geralt whilst she bathed and slept.

*****

Her head still felt like a mass unto itself, swollen and bloodied from her getting knocked around like a damn wraith in the wind. She could still scarcely believe the situation she had been trapped in, scolding the parts of her that had melted in the time spent with Ciri and Jaskier. She was getting  _ soft _ , and soft meant one day soon she'd find herself  _ dead _ . Geralt had no plans on her life ending so shortly, especially considering the buffoonery Jaskier oftentimes dragged her into. Knowing him, he'd trip going up the wrong stairs and find himself trapped in a faery circle. 

Geralt tried not to hiss at the jostling of her shoulder when she twitched, her head sending another, newer throb of pain behind her eyes. 

Great. A migraine really tied things in well, considering how the rest of her previous night had gone. 

The throb quickly developed into a full blown sear by the time she turned to bury her face in the pitifully thin pillow, on the pitifully thin bed the inn offered. The dark helped, and the coarse fabric felt soothing to the heated skin of her forehead and cheeks, but Geralt knew that after being jostled so violently in the fight, she'd be lucky to be up and moving before several hours into the morn. At least she didn't feel nauseated. Heaving only made the pain worse, and she wasn't entirely convinced she wouldn't wind up vomiting blood. 

Gods, she was exhausted. Is this what Regis meant when he said she needed to rest? He had warned her of repercussions to ignoring him but she had waved it off, figuring she'd be fine. Geralt certainly did not feel fine, and was steadily starting to regret even the  _ consideration  _ she had put into the fucking contract that caused all this mess. If she had never taken the contract then she'd never have gotten her head smashed in, never would've dislocated her shoulder, and never would've lost her hair.

… Except, another contract could've ended the exact same way. Geralt had never considered her hair a danger before, but as she laid there in the dark, it creeped up in her mind. She had grown it out in the first place because she liked the way it made her face look; one of the few things she allowed herself for all of those long years. Jaskier enjoying it as much as he did was a wonderful bonus she discovered when she met him, and he had convinced her to let it grow longer. 

The thoughts of the bard drew her attention to the disappointingly empty bed that she laid in. He had been there when she had finally fallen asleep, head tucked securely under her chin and lean arms pressing their stomachs together as he slumbered. Despite that the bed was made around her, blankets pulled gently to her shoulders despite the way she had turned upon waking. The mattress was cold, and Geralt was too. 

She made to sit up, squeezing her eyes shut with a cut off groan at the way the room swam around her. It seems she had garnered a concussion, or some harsh bruising– no wonder her head hurt so fiercely. Geralt fought back the urge to curl under the covers and drown herself in the blankets as she stood, shivering when the cold of the floor leeched up her legs. She huffed in annoyance, before frowning further when her breath misted in front of her nose. She'd need to buy warmer clothes for Ciri before they left. 

It was with that thought that she heard familiar feet treading the hall outside, soft boots tapping quietly along while Jaskier's voice hummed a half tune. She stood where she was, waiting for him to open the door- or walk right by it. (She still didn't know why he loved her but she loved him so much anyway.) 

To both her surprise and complete unsurprise he stopped at their door and opened it with a quick creak of old hinges. "Hello, beautiful! It's time to wake u–" he cut himself off when he saw her standing in the middle of the room, still shirtless and only half dressed from sleep. She realized this with some halfhearted embarrassment that she wasn't wearing scarcely anything, though it did little to make her move, and she shrugged at Jaskier. He seemed more amused than anything else. 

"Take it you slept well, then?" He asked, moving over to grab her top and tossing it lightly to her. She caught it gracefully, looking gratefully at him before sliding it on as he continued to speak. "Brought us breakfast, got us something for today."

She had started fussing with her hair at that point, trying to ignore the pang it still sent through her each time she saw it. It had taken to sticking to all over the place this morning, disheveled horribly after she had tossed around instead of properly sleeping. "You didn't have to do that." 

"Well- we have the extra coin and the past few days have been hell. You deserve something nice." And there Jaskier went again, twisting strange feelings in her chest that she couldn't bring herself to shiver away. "Come sit, dearheart. I know you're stir crazy resting as you have been but you need it." She blinked and slumped slightly, Jaskier seeing right through her. She moved to stand besides him, not sitting yet as he unwrapped the packages he held.

Geralt's eyes brightened when she saw the pastry in Jaskier's hands, and he couldn't quite stop the grin from spreading across his face. "Thought you might like that, smelt the chocolate and knew you'd want some." Jaskier was quite right, her mouth was already watering even if she'd never admit it. 

"Oh." She managed, feeling rather embarrassed about the panic she had felt upon waking. Why would Jaskier leave without reason? "It uh, looks good." Jaskier beamed at her, moving to sit on the bed and stubbornly patting besides him. 

What was she to do except sit besides him?

She had never been able to say no, even as high strung and pained as she was at the current moment. She sat down gingerly, sighing in restrained pleasure when the bard snaked an arm around her waist and urged her head to rest on his shoulder. It was... nice. Even after all this time it was nice, and after all this time Jaskier still hadn't gotten fed up with her and left. 

She was still ridiculously nauseous but the prospect of eating something as luxurious as chocolate made it worth the risk. She was coming to learn that most things were worth the risk when Jaskier and Ciri were involved. She was still growing her hair out again- even if it would take years. Maybe she could wear more makeup now, though, or different jewelry. 

It still hurt but it wasn't bleeding, and Geralt found that the sweet taste of chocolate and the warmth of her bard covered that ache up quite nicely; even if for a moment. 

  
  



End file.
